


The Old Family Farm

by VTsuion



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Meet the Family, Misunderstandings, Relationship Reveal, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion
Summary: After years of seeing each other in secret, Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent have been caught together on camera - and that means Bruce can finally meet Clark's family, if only he'd take it seriously.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 20
Kudos: 231





	The Old Family Farm

“Bruce Wayne Seen with Reporter Clark Kent, More Than an Interview?” the headline read. Beneath it was a pretty good picture of the two of them, just talking, but they were standing close together, Clark had been caught mid laugh at something Bruce had said, and there was an intensity in Bruce’s gaze that was more billionaire playboy smolder than Batman glare.

It was just a gossip column, buried deep in a mostly reputable Gotham paper, just like Bruce had planned, but Clark still felt a thrill of nerves at the thought of people discovering a secret they had been keeping for so long, in a way he never did when fighting a supervillain.

“Congratulations, Smallville, I didn’t know you had it in you!” Lois Lane said as she plopped down at her desk, a few feet away. “How does it feel, being the newsworthy reporter for once?”

Clark only shrugged.

“This explains where you’ve been disappearing off to lately - I was starting to wonder if you were Superman after all.” She laughed at the impossibility of it.

That was why he and Bruce had “come out” when they did. Clark wasn’t the only one starting to raise eyebrows with his frequent disappearances, and it didn’t hurt to have an excuse to be seen together out of costume. It was a perfectly reasonable plan, which was why Clark had agreed to it in the first place, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t have certain misgivings that Bruce couldn’t quite understand.

It was a quarter past noon when Clark’s phone rang. It was just like Ma and Pa Kent to wait until his lunch break to call, even though Clark, like any good reporter, was still at his desk, drafting his latest article.

Lois glanced up as he got to his feet. “Parents?” she mouthed.

Clark nodded.

“Good luck, Smallville.”

“Thanks.” He appreciated the sentiment at least.

He slipped out as quickly and quietly as he could as Clark Kent, and went up to the rooftop of the Planet, where Metropolis had first been introduced to Superman. He took a deep breath and answered the phone.

“Clark Jonathan Kent,” Ma was the first to speak, “when were you going to tell us that you’re seeing that Mr. Wayne? Really now, leaving your own parents to find out from the papers who their son is dating! I only heard about it from Linda, because she keeps up with those big city gossip rags.”

“Sorry, Ma.” Clark nervously rubbed the back of his neck, even though there probably wasn’t anyone looking.

“It’s true then, what that Gotham paper said?” Pa asked.

“Yes, Pa, it’s true.”

“How long?” Clark could picture Ma’s incisive look.

“Just a few years.”

“Clark! And you didn’t tell us in all that time?”

“Bruce is a private man, and so am I.” Not that Clark would have kept it secret even from his own  _ parents _ for this long, but it didn’t feel fair to leave all the blame on Bruce.

Pa made a disbelieving noise - something about “billionaires” - but Clark could hear Ma nodding along.

“It sounds serious.” Deliberately, she added, “You know, it’s not good to have secrets between you.”

The idea of Bruce not having secrets was unfathomable, but Clark was pretty sure they’d gotten most of the big ones out of the way, and Clark was happy to say that he was in the clear, at least. “It’s alright, Ma. He actually met me as the other guy first.”

“You’re sure Wayne doesn’t just want to be seen with Superman?” Pa put in. “He’s got a reputation, you know.”

“Pa!” Clark exclaimed in protest. “He’s not really like that, you know how those gossip magazines are; you’d think I was seeing everyone Superman has ever rescued.” Not that Bruce discouraged the rumors, but Clark knew well enough to quit while he was ahead.

“What your father means to say,” Ma said, “is that we’d like a chance to meet this Bruce Wayne fellow who clearly means so much to you.”

Clark hesitated.

“Just for dinner at the old homestead and then you can fly him back to Gotham and he can be home by midnight - though of course you’re both more than welcome to stay the night.”

“I’ll ask him,” Clark said, but he knew Bruce wasn’t going to like it.

* * *

“Sure,” Bruce said, “meet the folks, see the family farm.” His smile looked just like every picture of Gotham’s most eligible bachelor even though they were in the Batcave, both out of costume, Bruce at his computer and Clark hovering an inch or two off the ground beside him.

“Bruce, I’m serious.”

“And so am I,” he said, not letting up the facade. “It’ll make for great publicity.”

Clark rubbed a hand across his face. “Publicity? I’m not going to let Ma and Pa get hounded by a pack of reporters.”

“They managed you alright,” Bruce said, flashing Clark another tabloid-worthy smile. “But I think we can take care of our own publicity this time. What do you say, ace reporter?”

Clark just shook his head.

* * *

It wasn’t a publicity stunt, at least Clark had insisted that it wasn’t. But Bruce had insisted on going in their civilian identities anyway, and he wasn’t wrong, so they took the Wayne Enterprises private jet rather than the “Superman express” as Bruce had glibly dubbed it - getting in character, no doubt. Bruce spent the flight casually flipping through the tabloids while Clark fidgeted around the jet, happier flying through the air by his own power than surrounded by the trappings of a life that wasn’t even real - but it was nicer squeezing into a commercial airliner.

The car Bruce had called for - rented? bought? - met them directly on the tarmac. It was a sleek black sports car that distinctly reminded Clark of the Batmobile. He could only give Bruce a look at the sight of it - and here Bruce was the one who had insisted they go incognito.

Bruce only lowered his sunglasses and gave Clark a sardonic smile; a final glimpse of the real Bruce before the mask went back up to stay.

They drove up to the old family farm looking distinctly out of place in the quiet, humble countryside. Clark always felt a pang of nostalgia at the sight of the place. He would never give up the life he had made for himself - and Superman - in Metropolis, but it was good to be home.

Ma and Pa came outside to greet them and usher them into the house, where dinner was already ready, waiting for them. The delicious aroma hit them as they came in through the door - just because Clark didn’t need to eat didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate good food.

Bruce was all easy charisma and charming smiles from the moment they had stepped out of the car, which was probably better than introducing his parents to a surly Batman, but Clark couldn’t help but cringe at every false laugh.

They all sat down around the table and as they filled their plates, Bruce remarked in a jokingly conspiratorial tone, “What was it like, raising the Man of Steel? I can only imagine chasing after a floating Superbaby, or was he always this well-mannered?” Bruce waggled his eyebrows at Clark in a most un-Batman-like way - Clark nearly choked.

“It was a challenge,” Ma admitted. “But Clark has always had a good heart, and he’s made his mother proud. Not that he didn’t go flying around the house even before he could talk, and has nearly destroyed it more times than I can count.”

“Ma!” Clark exclaimed.

Bruce laughed. “Well, he’s in good company. You could ask Alfred; he’d tell you I’m still impossible.”

“I’m sure,” Clark muttered - it wasn’t the billionaire Bruce Wayne, laughing easily with Ma and Pa, that nearly gave Alfred a heart attack when he came back to the mansion in the morning bloody and bruised.

“Not that I’m the only one getting into trouble in the big city; don’t be fooled by our mild-mannered reporter,” Bruce continued, giving Clark a playful nudge.

Clark could only shake his head.

* * *

After dinner, Ma recruited Clark to help with the dishes while Bruce followed Pa out onto the porch for some bonding, as Ma put it.

“I’m sorry,” Clark said, as soon as Bruce was safely outside, “he’s not usually like this. I swear he’s doing it on purpose.”

“He’s been perfectly charming,” Ma assured him.

“That’s the problem,” Clark at least began to say, but Bruce’s secret identity was his business, not Clark’s.

“He’s just nervous,” Ma continued. “You wouldn’t believe how frightened I was the first time I met your Pa’s folks.”

“Bruce, frightened?” Clark scoffed.

“I nearly tripped over myself, my legs were shaking so bad, and I don’t think I stopped for breath the whole time I was there. I still can’t imagine half the things I said.” Ma lowered her voice and looked Clark in the eye. “And he doesn’t have his own parents to ask about these things.”

When Pa led Bruce back into the family room, Clark really looked at Bruce for the first time since they had arrived; take in all the details, listen to his breathing and heartbeat that had become so familiar, a lifeline, whether they were lying in the same bed, or halfway across an alien planet. There was never anything about Bruce Wayne that was accidental, no matter how casual he appeared, but the disguise was usually a little more than skin deep. However, that evening, for all the picture perfect smiles and ringing laughter, when Clark took a closer look, he was really more Batman than Bruce Wayne; his muscles were tense, ready to spring, his heart rate accelerated, his breathing controlled, as though he were fighting the whole rogues gallery, rather than talking with Pa Kent. There was nothing relaxed about him.

* * *

At the end of the evening, Clark bid Ma and Pa goodnight before joining Bruce in the guestroom - Bruce had graciously accepted their invitation to stay the night.

The room was dark and empty. Bruce had been there; his fancy suit jacket tossed carelessly on the bed, as though he expected Alfred to come through and put it away. Clark half expected Batman to emerge from the shadows, but even Bruce wasn’t quite that stealthy.

A cold breeze wafted in, fluttering the curtains of a half-open window.

Clark floated out onto the roof, where Bruce was sitting, crouched like a handsome gargoyle, glaringly out of place on the farmhouse. Clark settled down next to him.

“You’ve been careless,” Bruce said, back to the familiar gruff tones, just a shade softer than Batman. “I’m surprised your identity isn’t public knowledge by now.”

It took Clark a beat to realize that Bruce was joking, at least partially - Bruce was right that Clark had been insinuating that Bruce was hiding something since they had arrived. Still, Clark protested, “I’ve never had to hide my identity from Ma or Pa.”

“Nor have I,” Bruce retorted.

Clark had spoken without thinking; Bruce was inevitably feeling a bit uneasy around Clark’s perfectly ordinary, happy family - adopted or otherwise - and there was no reason to rub it in.

Clark was about to apologize, however, unusually, Bruce beat him to it with a rough, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. They don’t bite, you know. They haven’t been brainwashed, or replaced by alien robots, or anything.”

“I know. I checked.”

“Of course you did.”

After a long pause, in a low voice, Bruce said, “We could all learn a thing or two from them.”

“Really?” Clark asked, surprised. “I know Ma’s cooking is something special, but-”

Bruce cut him off with a glare. “Without them, there’d be no Superman.”

Clark gazed out over the darkened fields and the little town he once called home. “You’re right, I don’t know what I’d be without them. But,” he added, “that’s no reason to be intimidated.”

Bruce unsurprisingly glared back at him again.

But Clark knew better than to take it to heart, and instead drifted over a few more inches, toward Bruce, until their shoulders were just touching, and slipped an arm around the dark knight’s waist. Bruce gave a token grunt in response, but apparently not a displeased one, as he leaned against Clark’s shoulder, and together they sat and watched the stars twinkling over the sleeping fields.


End file.
